Page 137 of The Chaos She Brings

“He hasn’t said anything, so maybe I’m wrong.” I twist my fingers together, staring down at them. “But… I can’t be alone. Like, ever.”

I glance up at her, hoping she understands what I really mean.

Shedoes. Of course, she does. Her expression softens—not with pity, but with understanding.

“What do you think will happen if you’re alone?”

Before I can answer, a server arrives with our food. I wait until they’re gone before lowering my voice. “It’s not about what I think will happen. I just… can’t stand being alone with my thoughts.” My throat tightens. “I used to be good at blocking things out, at staying upbeat. But now?” I exhale sharply. “I can’t.”

Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, staring at the table like it holds the answers.

Carina’s hand covers mine, grounding me. “Maybe you need to talk about it.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t want to think about it.”

She nods, a faint, sorrowful smile tugging at her lips. “I thought that too, once upon a time.” She squeezes my hand before sitting back, taking a bite of her panini. When she swallows, she continues. “Everyone heals differently, so I’m not saying you should do what I did. But talking to Dr. Morgan? Best decision I ever made.”

I stay quiet, picking at the edge of my napkin.

“You can’t let him win,” she adds gently. “Confronting your thoughts might be exactly what you need.”

Before I can respond, a wave of nausea slams into me. My stomach lurches.

Shit.

I shove back from the table and bolt for the restrooms, barely making it in time before I’m emptying my stomach into the toilet.

When the nausea finally subsides, I grip the sink, splashing cold water on my face, my breath still shaky.

The door bangs open, and Carina rushes in, concern etched into her face. “What happened?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the dizziness. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling sick for the past couple of weeks. Ever since…” I trail off, but we both know what I mean.

Carina’s eyes narrow. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Could you be…”

“What?”

She hesitates, then—“Pregnant.”

The word slams into me like a physical blow.

“No.” I shake my head, my pulse pounding. “I’m on the pi—” I stop, inhaling sharply.

I haven’t taken my pills since the Russians kidnapped me.

It hasn’t even crossed my mind.

Carina grips my arms as my knees threaten to buckle. “When was your last period?”

I swallow hard. “The day Nico got me to the safehouse.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Carina does the math.

“That was the end of June. It’s now mid-August…”

I can’t breathe.

“Alright, let’s not panic just yet.”